Howl of the Fettered Wolf: The Invisible Entente, #4

Summary

For vengeance demigoddess Vera Goodall, balance is everything. Her life revolves around her contracts, her bookshop, and her dogs, and there is no room for anything — or anyone — else. Every aspect of her life is scheduled, and delegation is a four-letter word.

But when someone attempts to steal The Book of the Fettered Wolf, an ancient text with the power to destroy the otherworld, Vera will need to break all her own rules to keep that balance from toppling.

With the help of Gabriel Mulligan, the Gorgon-Fae who threatens the walls she's built around herself, Vera sets out to protect the book from those who wish to use it. Along the way, she unveils the lies that have created the foundation of her life, and each new revelation blurs the line between friend and enemy.

In the midst of chaos and intrigue, balance becomes a matter of survival. Vera must decide who to trust and how much to open her heart if she wants to protect the otherworld and everything she holds dear.

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Howl of the Fettered Wolf - Krista Walsh

Howl of the Fettered Wolf

An Invisible Entente Novel

By

Krista Walsh

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

Cover art: Ravven (www.ravven.com)

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the authors of this work has been asserted by him/ her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

For Chris, with love

1

Vera Goodall settled into the dining chair as Dr. Adam Taylor gasped for breath. His lips were already turning blue, the whites of his terrified eyes blossoming red as the blood vessels burst.

Amazing the damage a single olive and a slight psychic nudge could do.

Vera crossed her legs and watched as Taylor’s body lurched forward. His palms slammed against his blue-and-gold placemat and knocked over his glass of water. The glass rolled to the edge, tipped over, and smashed against the laminate flooring.

She raised her feet to avoid having her shoes splashed. It wouldn’t do to leave water prints on her way out.

It’s nothing personal, she said. I usually prefer faster methods for the sake of expediency, but my client insisted.

Vera didn’t know why she had decided to stick around and keep Taylor company. Her usual routine was to set the scene and then stay just long enough to make sure everything would play out as intended. It wasn’t like she enjoyed watching people die. It was simply her role in the universe, a part of her heritage. After twenty years of accepting clients, she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty or emotional. And she didn’t have time to hold their hands while they died, either. Especially not lately, with summons coming in several times a week.

How so many people had suddenly learned of her existence was beyond her understanding, but for the last two months her vengeance revenue had nearly matched what her bookshop was bringing in — for the first time in her history. Even when her mother was the reigning vengeance demigoddess, people’s interest in permanent repercussions for personal insults or injuries had been on the decline. And for Vera it had been even worse — until now.

While the extra income was a nice bonus for her ledger — money she had tucked away in her retirement fund — Vera was overwhelmed by the change to her routine. She wished it would settle down. A line of people were waiting for her to decide whether or not she would accept their offerings, and she couldn’t put off answering them much longer. Her role as an enabler of vengeance was part of the balance of her world, and to let that balance go off-kilter would add another stress to her already long list of things to worry about.

For now, spending time with Dr. Taylor while he died was a good way to hide from her to-do list, so she remained seated while he slumped out of his chair and his body thumped on the wet laminate. A low gurgle escaped his throat as he dragged himself across the floor. Vera had no idea where he thought he was going, but she made no move to stop him. His death needed to look natural, which meant she could have no hand in it after she set the scene in motion.

Taylor’s wife, Wendy, had reached out to Vera two nights ago. Apparently the good doctor, a dermatologist, had a bad habit of sleeping with his patients. Wendy had discovered a pink thong in the pocket of his lab coat when she’d surprised him at his office with a home-cooked lunch.

A few minutes later, she had marched out, leaving lunch behind — most of it sprayed over Taylor’s suit.

Vera had pulled that image from Wendy’s mind during their discussion, and it was a highlight of her week. Vengeance summons were meant to be official, serious matters, but it had taken all of Vera’s self-control not to laugh at the mashed potatoes and gravy streaming down the man’s cheeks.

He didn’t look much different now as he crawled across the floor, remnants of his dinner splashed on his face through his panicked flailing. This time, Vera had no desire to laugh. He looked too pathetic as he clung to life, likely praying for someone to help him — someone other than the strange red-haired, gray-eyed woman who had shocked him by walking into the dining room and was now watching him die.

Having been the weapon of choice enough times in her life to appreciate the horror that comes before death, she sympathized with his struggle. Dying never appeared to be an enjoyable experience. She almost felt bad for nudging his mind to believe the olive was choking him, inciting the panic that made his throat close around the food and block his windpipe. Personally, she felt Wendy’s reaction was extreme for the crime, but it wasn’t Vera’s place to judge. She simply considered the value of the offering, carried out her job, and allowed the consequences of her actions to rest on the conscience of the person who’d hired her.

Taylor took another ten minutes to fall still. Vera remained in her seat for a while afterward, listening to the ticking clock on the wall. After the racket of his struggle, the silence was both oppressive and a relief.

She pulled her planner out of her jacket pocket, opened it to today’s date, and marked a line through the ninth item on the list: Finish contract. Another paycheck earned.

Lights from a passing car cut through the dining room windows and shook Vera out of her thoughts. She rose to her feet, stepped over the body, and headed for the back door that took her down the lane behind the houses to the main street.

Her shoulders twinged with fatigue as she pulled the collar of her coat close around her neck to fend off the autumnal wind. Although the temperatures had improved since the unusual snow storm that had held the city of New Haven hostage almost two weeks ago, the dampness remained in the air and set off her desire for a cup of tea and a low fire in the grate.

She glanced at her watch, and peacefulness settled over her. Taylor’s contract, despite taking longer than expected, had only stolen two hours of her evening. She’d still have time to sit and read after taking her dogs for a run. A blessed change from the last couple of weeks. For the past year, she’d begun to dread her vengeance work. It had become so boring and repetitive, her clients always bringing up the same issues, human nature continuing to disappoint her. And yet, she’d had no good reason to turn her clients down. As a result, she’d been so busy, she’d even forgotten to visit the cemetery to leave fresh flowers for her parents. That just wasn’t like her.

Vera didn’t understand how a single event that had happened nine months ago could be having such long-lasting repercussions. Strict adherence to her schedule and deference to the daily to-do list in her planner had always been her top priorities. Then one twenty-four-hour period had scattered her planner to the winds, and she was still working to put the pages back in order.

When the warlock Jermaine Hershel had transported seven strangers into a magically sealed room and tasked them with figuring out which one of them had killed him, Vera had taken on the challenge with the same frame of mind she tackled everything in life: Get to work and don’t stop until it’s done.

They’d accomplished their goal, but the time away from the shop had made it difficult for her to see her old routine in the same light. How could she? She’d been introduced to so many new otherworldly people — people who had managed to survive a battle by working together.

Including Gabriel Mulligan, the charming Gorgon-Fae, who had stared at her in such a fascinating way when she’d looked him in the eye. As though she’d thrown his entire world into a whirlwind. That memory had remained with her in sharp detail, surprising her with daydreams in the middle of her work day and even disturbing her sleep.

Such quick distractions weren’t usual for her, and she couldn’t wrap her head around the change.

Perhaps it was the ease with which Jermaine had plucked her out of her life and planted her in the middle of his. The man always did have a knack for being the strand of hair in a fresh coat of paint. The suddenness of the shift had made her see the fragility of her carefully structured life. What she’d always seen as sturdiness was only an illusion.

Since then, she’d worked hard to regain her solid footing, but it continued to evade her. Everything seemed to be on the edge of teetering into chaos, no matter how desperately she tried to hold on to it.

And she couldn’t even pinpoint where her stresses rested. Her shop, Yggdrasil Books, was doing well. She and her childhood friend and business partner, Ara Vellis, had a band of loyal customers who never went a week without popping in to check out the latest additions to the shelves. Every day, people came in to sit down after stopping at the coffee shop on the corner, and they’d read for hours. The sight always filled Vera with a warm buzz of success, which only increased when they purchased the books on their way out.

Then there were her dogs, Vidar and Baxter. Both of them had been with her since the shop had opened five years ago and had become a source of constant companionship and affection. She held their routines more sacred than her own.

But at the moment, the thought of going home to them and taking them through the usual steps of her evening felt like just one more obligation. The structure that used to keep her sane was now driving her to the brink. With so many plates in the air, the challenge of keeping them spinning had begun to take its toll, and she didn’t know how long she could keep going before one of them slipped and shattered, like the glass of water Taylor had knocked to the floor.

Vera shuddered and hugged her coat tighter around her middle.

She would have to find a way to get herself back in control of her life. Any other route would make her appear weak, and she’d worked too hard to prevent any such extreme character flaw.

A blaring horn tore her out of her thoughts. As she turned around, she caught headlights bearing down on her as a car cut the corner. Images of a different car flashed through her mind — the blood spray across the asphalt, the reek of gasoline and burned rubber, the ambulance siren, the squeak of a wheel as the paramedics rolled a stretcher across the road.

Vera just had time to leap clear of the vehicle before it hit her. Her shoulder decked the side mirror and the plastic cracked, sending the mirror clattering across the pavement as the car took the next turn so sharply the tires squealed.

She watched the brake lights disappear, her hand pressed to her chest and her breath coming quick and shallow.

That had been too close. If the car had hit her at that speed, the driver would have been killed. Like a movie playing out in her mind, she pictured the frame of the car buckling against her body, folding in on itself until the traction kicked in and the car stopped moving. And there she would have been, standing in the middle of the wreckage with nothing but bruises. It would have meant questions. Media.

Vera groaned and stared down the empty street, counting her breaths to slow the pulse rushing in her ears. Her stomach cramped, and she bent over to ease the nausea. Too close.

Almost the same way, she thought.

She’d been twelve years old, walking with her mother to pass a beautiful summer evening. She could still taste the sweetness of fresh-cut grass on the air and hear a radio playing from someone’s porch down the street. Crickets hiding in the bushes along the road added to the serenade. Then the car had squealed around the corner, and Susan Goodall had shoved her daughter out of the way.

Vera remembered how the grass and dirt had scraped her elbows, the skin on her knee peeling as she’d skidded across the sidewalk. She’d rolled onto her back in time to witness the car hitting her mother, and to this day, twenty years later, she didn’t understand how it had happened. The car should have been totaled, and yet it had been her mother who’d gone flying.

A freak accident, her father had said. A perfect strike at just the right angle, and with such force that there had been no chance of survival.

The car tonight hadn’t been going fast enough to do the same damage, but the memory sent a stab of pain through Vera’s chest.

She forced one foot in front of the other and turned her steps toward the side street where her shop was located. Her small apartment was tucked onto the second floor. A cup of tea would set everything to rights quickly enough, but it would have to wait until after she’d taken Vidar and Baxter out for a run. Her weakness wasn’t enough of an excuse to forget about her dogs.

She started toward the path that would take her to the back door of the shop, but a glint of light through the bay window out front made her pause.

Had Ara forgotten to turn a light off?

The idea was so inconceivable that Vera dismissed it as soon as it came. In all the years they’d known each other, she had never known Ara to be wasteful with electricity. The woman was an advocate for environmental efforts and a quick flick of a light switch was the easiest way to contribute. She’d lectured Vera’s father for years about his forgetfulness.

Vera crept toward the window and peered through the glass. The light dimmed and shifted. Not a full light then. A flashlight?

Her muscles tensed, and she curled her hands into fists.

Not again.

A week earlier, someone had broken into the shop, and Vidar had chased him away. Vera had thought it was over, but apparently this thief was determined.

Keeping her weight on her toes, Vera opened the front door and braced herself for the piercing shriek of the burglar alarm. Instead, she was greeted with silence. The hair rose on the back of her neck at the implication. The security system was heavily protected by magic, a spell cast by a Ghurgzic demon. Disabling it without the passcode would have required advanced knowledge of the arcane.

She left the door ajar behind her and stepped lightly over the hardwood floor. Cocking her head to better pick up the sounds in the shop, she heard a man grunt as the heavy door to the restricted section dragged open.

Bastard.

Of course he would go through the effort of trying to get at her extensive — and expensive — occult collection. They were books she didn’t keep on the main shelves, the contents too advanced and powerful for anyone who might walk off the street. She kept them with her first edition collection, available for private viewings and select sales.

The restricted section was also where she kept her personal collection, believing her books to be safer in the locked and magically guarded room than if they were roaming free in her apartment.

She would obviously need to reconsider her system.

Softly, she stepped through the rows of bookshelves, the small light getting brighter the closer she got to the thief. No noise drifted back to her except for a few soft whispers. She hadn’t spotted anyone else and only one shape appeared to be in the room, so she guessed the thief was talking to himself.

Only one to contend with. Even if he had magic, she would be able to handle him. Her heartbeat settled, and she gave up trying to sneak up on him.

She stepped into the small room, but he didn’t notice. Then she saw what he was doing, and her feet froze against the floor, astonishment turning her thoughts to static.

She’d expected him to be going after the locked bookcases, the titles facing the room through glass panels.

Instead, he had pulled one of the cabinets forward on its hidden hinges and was hunched in front of her safe, murmuring chanted words as he fiddled with the custom-made combination lock, clearly unaffected by the magical charms that had been set over the dial.

Red flashed through Vera’s vision, and she grabbed the back of his coat. The man cried out and jerked away, but her grip remained strong as she hauled him out of the room.

Who are you? she demanded.

The man snarled. Green eyes flashed red in the glow of his flashlight, and he shoved her away. The force was enough to slam her backward into a bookcase. The man took off running. Vera braced her toes on the hardwood and sprinted after him around the bookshelves. The thief pushed one of the shelves toward her and she caught it on her shoulder, the weight pressing into her muscles. With a grunt, she shoved it into place and continued her pursuit, but by the time she got to the front door, the dark figure had already disappeared into the shadows of the quiet street.

She sent a silent curse after him and brushed the dust off her coat where the books had fallen on her.

As the adrenaline seeped out of her blood, worry rose up to fill the void.

Twice now someone had broken into her shop. It suggested the thief was after more than a quick buck or an easy grab-and-go. Last time, he hadn’t made it far enough to give away the aim of his caper, but now that Vera had caught him in the act, the facts started worming their way into her mind, boring a hole through her confidence in her security system.

The man had been strong enough, if only for a moment, to shove her out of the way. If the security system hadn’t been enough of a clue, the man’s strength was a sure sign that he was someone otherworldly. Add that to his interest in her safe…

Acid burned the back of her throat. Vera shut the front door of the shop, ensured the deadbolt was thrown before she turned the alarm system back on, then headed toward the back room. She stepped over the worn paperbacks and shiny hardcover books that had scattered across the floor when the man jarred the bookcase, cringing at the necessity of reorganizing everything on the shelves before opening tomorrow. But even the added item on her to-do list didn’t outweigh the concern that prickled her skin as she entered the cramped restricted room and turned on the overhead light.

He’d had no trouble getting through the secure door to this room. After the first burglary attempt, she had called Ezel, the Ghurgzic demon, to have a second alarm system installed on the inner door to make sure the contents remained safe. The thief had managed to disable it without issue.

And aside from Ara and Ezel, no one knew the location of her safe.

With slow steps, she approached the wooden cabinet at the back. The legs had scratched the floor when the thief had pulled it out of the way, and the books on the shelves inside had been jostled, tilting forward to rest against the glass.

For a moment, Vera stood still, staring at the closed door of the safe. Not only had he found it, but the dial sat at the fifth number of her seven-digit combination. He had been so close to getting it open.

Right until she’d stepped into the room, she’d believed he was going after her other occult books. Many of them were extremely rare and could have been sold for upwards of five grand apiece. They also would have been easy to snatch, sitting behind their glass doors.

Instead, he had gone for the safe, and his target shouted at her as proof of what he was after. She felt numb.

It can’t be. How could he know?

Swallowing the ball of worry in her chest, Vera touched the dial of the safe with the tips of her fingers, wary of any lingering magic from the way he’d chanted over it. After taking a breath to steady her shaking hand, she slid the last two dials to the correct numbers and jerked the handle. The lock clicked and the door opened with the rumble of metal grating on metal.

Two books lay within. The first sat on top of the other, its leather cover and worn pages a familiar sight to her. It was one of her most prized possessions — a reference tome with in-depth knowledge about the species of the otherworld. It contained their history in this dimension, with all the wars and political changes that had occurred since they’d first broken through the veil millennia ago. Only earlier this week she’d flipped through its pages to help Allegra Rossi, a succubus who had also fallen victim to Jermaine’s trap, resolve a supernatural issue at the Garden Hotel.

As old as the book was, and as rare as the information might be, the pages didn’t contain any knowledge that couldn’t be found by discussing the subject with most otherworldly scholars. The age of the book might make it worth a pretty penny, but she suspected money wasn’t the thief’s goal.

Vera shifted the top book to the side and pulled away the oilcloth that kept the second book hidden from view, while preventing its antiquated leather cover from drying out.

She ran her fingers over the ridges on the spine, the faded brown leather stretched over the wooden boards of a medium octavo, a little larger than a standard paperback. It wasn’t heavy, only about a hundred pages or so, but the paper was thick and infused with the heady aroma of age and magic. On the cover, a black etching depicted a wolf, its muzzle open in an eternal howl. Around its neck, a silver-leaf chain glinted under the light, binding the wolf to its captivity.

The Book of the Fettered Wolf. That was how her mother had always referred to it. Although the words weren’t written anywhere within the text, its title was as much a part of Vera’s ingrained knowledge as how to walk. The fettered wolf symbolized ultimate strength and potential betrayal, bound in chains in order to protect the world. Very suitable for a book that offered the reader so much power that it had been deemed too dangerous to keep in the world. It had been hidden seven hundred years ago, passed down through the bloodline of the Norse gods to the present-day keeper.

The only knowledge Vera had as to what the book contained were the stories that had been shared from keeper to keeper, that it was a collection of every otherworldly species that had passed into this dimension. The words within, and therefore any understanding of its true power, would require a skilled translator to interpret, but no one in her family had relied on that detail to keep it safe. After her mother’s death, the responsibility of guarding the book had fallen on Vera’s shoulders.

One more responsibility for her to carry.

And now someone was trying to steal it. Although she’d kept the secret of where she hid it close to her breast over the last twenty years, someone had known exactly where to find it. Someone with magic.

Vera’s mouth went dry. She bundled the book in the cloth and held it to her chest, then used her hip to slam the safe shut.

They will not get their hands on it, she swore. Not a chance in the seven hells.

2

The hum of customers chatting quietly in the shop the next morning created the perfect backdrop of white noise for Vera to tell Ara about last night’s trouble. She’d waited until a sufficient crowd had arrived before bringing up the subject, wanting to make sure no one’s attention was drawn by the conversation.

She pulled Ara toward the end of the front counter, closer to the stairs that led up to her apartment. From there, they were partially blocked by one of the bookcases, but she could still see the front door and the customers in case someone approached close enough to overhear.

Ara listened intently as Vera told her about the scuffle. When Vera mentioned the thief’s ability to shove her into the bookshelf, her friend’s tan skin ran pale and her eyes widened. She glanced at the patrons to make sure no one was listening, then leaned closer to Vera. That’s incredible. Not to mention more than a little terrifying. Are you all right?

I did some damage to the wall, but otherwise, yes. More surprised than anything else.

And you’re sure he was after the book? How could he possibly know where it was?

Vera clenched her teeth, and a sharp pain shot up behind her eyes. While the hours had passed during her sleepless night, she’d had time to muse over everything she’d witnessed, and in the light of day, she was finding her guess was just as sound as it had been in the small hours of the morning.

I’m certain, she said. He was too specific in his search for it to be a coincidence. If it was just for profit, he could have taken any other occult book off the shelf.

Ara tapped the pads of her fingers against the counter, and Vera noted the faint trace of green vines showing beneath her clear fingernails. The vines started spreading upward, creeping under Ara’s skin like veins before disappearing under the cuffs of her shirt. Ara followed her gaze downward and snatched her hand out of sight, shaking it free to clear the sign of her distress.

A small part of Vera was relieved to discover she wasn’t the only one unable to hide her concern.

Ara tucked her hands under her armpits, then exhaled sharply. The green vines that had come up under her collar and sneaked toward her neck receded. For a brief moment, her skin turned paper-thin, with faint lines creasing around her eyes and mouth. Her eyes lightened from their usual moss green to an ageless silver. Then she blinked and her face smoothed into the mask she habitually wore.

I’m so sorry I didn’t stick around last night, she said. I’d planned to, but I figured the inventory could wait.

Vera rested her hand on Ara’s shoulder. I’m not blaming you. If anything, it’s my own fault. I should have taken the first attempt more seriously and moved the book then. She squeezed Ara in reassurance, then ran her hand through her hair before dropping it to her hip. Her nerves were too shot for her to remain still.

What should we do now? Ara asked.

I’ve moved the book, Vera said. Before she’d taken Vidar and Baxter for a run last night, needing to work off some of her own energy as well as theirs, she’d brought the book to the store’s second safe hidden behind the painting of the shop at the back of the staff room. Usually, the only thing she kept in there was the cash she hadn’t had a chance to take to the bank. I called Ezel this morning to have the proper wards set over it — which will be a bit of an inconvenience for you, I’m afraid. With the double combination and the protective spells, hopefully it will be enough of a deterrent if the thief comes back and somehow tracks the book down again.

Vera pulled her planner out of her sweater pocket and splayed it open on the counter. On today’s date, she’d written and crossed off all the security measures she’d set in motion. She stared at the list, trying to think of other ideas. What else could she do? She’d believed she had already mapped out every possibility when she’d first hidden the book, and yet somehow this thief had come for it anyway.